By request...

Since Mom wanted to know how enormous I'm looking these days, here you go, along with a couple other pictures I took while I had the camera in-hand.


32 weeks and 5 days. Excuse the messy mirror; Jim stands up there to wash his hands after dinner and likes to high-five his reflection.


Jim wonders why I'm pointing the camera at him when he's just trying to enjoy his cheese and apples. Note his size 18m jeans, which fit perfectly in the waist but come to about mid-shin. Long skinny toddlers are hard to buy clothes for, people.


Bruce does not understand why I am taking a picture of myself and not him.

Toddlers suck at deception.

Jim has lately taken to hiding behind the big yellow chair in the living room whenever he does something that he suspects is forbidden. Case in point from five minutes ago:

We're happily lounging on the couch when Jim gets a sudden gleam in his eye. He waits until I'm not looking, then stands up and shuffles over to the chair. I pretend to not notice as he peers around the corner to make sure I haven't spotted his treachery. Moments later, the rustling begins.

"Hey Jim," I say. "What're you doing back there?"

"Take off diaper!" replies Jim all cheerful-like.

The kid's practically George Washington. We oughta get him a cherry tree for Christmas. (And no, he didn't successfully get it off - the tabs are too sticky. He did manage to remove his footie pajamas, though, despite the snaps and zipper.)

Linguist-parent bragging.

Is it weird for me to be excited that Jim knows how to make plurals now? He knows the difference between 'one apple,' 'two apples,' 'one banana,' 'two bananas,' etc., and uses them correctly without prompting. He can also sort of count (well, 'one' means one and all other numbers translate to 'more-than-one'), but hey, I'm no mathematician, so I'm happier about the plurals.

To prove his accomplishments:



We tried the ABCs twice because sometimes he makes it to K before skipping to Q, but alas, no luck. And I did help him a little by holding up fingers to remind him of 4 (that's the tricky one for him), but otherwise, that was all Jim.

Vague updates on Mr. Jim.

Jim looking adorably dopey on the porch.

Jim is turning into a ridiculous little thespian and likes to pretend things.

Exhibit A
He has this soft little green ball that he loves. Playing catch with it is part of his afternoon ritual of ambushing Dad the second he walks in the door for raucous games of tackle, chase, PT, and other assorted roughhousing. The other day, though, it became apparent that the little ball had gained weight dramatically when Jim picked it up, suddenly bent double, and began staggering around the floor with cries of "Ooh, heavy! Heavy ball!" He was actually really convincing.

Exhibit B
As everyone knows, dinosaurs are extremely seggy* and must be feared. Jim has lately taken to insisting on looking at pictures of "Seggy dinos!" If the picture is especially alarming, he'll touch the teeth with his index finger, then yank it back and go "Ow ow owwww!" and insist that the wounded digit be smooched. This also applies to stuffed animals and embroidered dinosaurs on his favorite pajamas.

Crazed imaginings aside, Jim is doing terribly well. He can now sing the Alphabet Song and attempts to ride his tricycle correctly, although he can't quite coordinate his feet to do it for more than two feet. On the down side, he thinks using silverware is for chumps and hiding from diaper changes is hilarious.

*scary

30 weeks = panic time?

How far along? 30 weeks.
Total weight gain/loss: Up 16 pounds.
Maternity clothes? I'm kind of running out of things that fit. Plus it's getting cold (for Georgia, anyway) , and I just can't justify buying a maternity coat to wear for like ten weeks, so I've been living in Noah's hoodies. Yeah, I look like a bum.
Stretch marks? No new ones, hallelujah glory be.
Sleep: It'd be a lot better if Jim would sleep past 5:30 in the morning, but my bladder has actually been treating me better lately, so I'm relatively happy.
Best moment this week: Nothing in particular, but watching Jim play in the leaves has been pretty good.
Movement: She's about 50 times more violent than Jim was. I hope this doesn't mean anything for when she comes out.
Food cravings: MEAT. I could could up a couple pounds of ground beef and just eat it plain.
Gender: Weiblich.
Labor Signs: Nej.
Belly Button in or out? In, but getting weird.
What I miss: My back not hurting. Owww.
What I am looking forward to: Having an outside baby and not looking like an elephant seal.
Milestones: 75% done! Ten weeks to go sounds craaaaaaazy.

30 weeks with Jim, just for reference.

I'm noticing that I've been worried about completely different things this time than when I was pregnant with Jim. I'm much much much less worried about actually having a teensy baby. Last time I was really concerned that I was going to break Jim or something, but it turned out that newborns aren't nearly as fragile and complicated as I expected. Taking care of them isn't easy, but it's pretty simple. Food, diaper, sleep, repeat every hour around the clock. I wouldn't say I'm looking forward to complete exhaustion and nightmarish sleep deprivation, but I'm not afraid of it. I know I can survive the first couple months, after which I can go back to a luxurious six hours a night.

What's really scary is the actual having-the-baby part. Last time I didn't think it could possibly be that bad. I thought it would be a big mind-over-matter thing, 'the only thing to fear is fear itself,' etc. But in reality? As it turned out, labor really freaking hurts. And sometimes it ends with a really traumatic c-section. So I'm a little terrified. I'd like to do a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) if possible, and I know the odds are in my favor (about 70% success rate with VBACs at this hospital) and that needing a c-section for a transverse baby last time was just a fluke, but I'm a total wuss, so I am dreading it. I hope I actually get to push this time, though. That'd be nice. I'm mostly just afraid of going through six millions hours of painful labor just to have another c-section.

And yeah, I know I know, healthy baby is all that matters. But can you really blame me for not wanting to get cut open again?